


BarsadWing

by WritLarge



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Crack, M/M, relationship very much in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/pseuds/WritLarge
Summary: Ever loyal Barsad suffers the indignity of having to fill in for Nightwing and is reduced to having to fight with goddamned sticks.





	BarsadWing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletClockworker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletClockworker/gifts).



> Special Thanks to youcantsaymylastname for beta/cheer reading and the awesome BarsadWing art!
> 
> The prompt: In honor of the kink meme prompt that I'm pretty sure never got filled: BARSAD-WING, DEFENDER OF GOTHAM. With background Bane/Blake. Bane survived the end of the occupation, and John found him and patched him back up at the Batcave. Barsad also survived and caught up with them later, discovering that Bane had decided to repay John for saving his life by training John to be Nightwing. This is all well and good, and eventually Bane and John get together. Some time later, John becomes indisposed for some reason--sickness, injury, whatever you like-- and Bane has to stay at the Batcave to take care of him. With both Bane and John unable to venture out into the night, Barsad is strong-armed by his brother into putting on that stupid, ill-fitting skintight suit and going out in public to fight crime in John's place. Please give me the hilarious misadventures of Barsad-wing as he patrols Gotham's streets.

Goddamned sticks. How the hell was he is supposed to work like this?

Barsad retrieved the fallen escrima stick from the alley, kicking at the unconscious man he’d just laid low to ensure that he was soundly out, and then cursed Bane and Blake in his head for the thousandth time.

“Brother?” Bane’s voice came through crisply on the comm. “Report.”

“Target neutralized. You may dispatch the GCPD.”

A giggle to his left caught his attention. Barsad turned to find a couple of young women leering at him from the mouth of the alleyway. Impossibly high heels, short skirts, smudged make-up, and at least one expensive handbag… on their way home from the club across the street then.

“It’s him!” he heard a gasp before they again succumbed to giggles.

It made him want to burn Gotham to the ground. Again.

Barsad shot the grapple high and swung away. Fuck it. He was going to linger around the brownstone by the park and hope Mrs. Novak caught sight of him. At least she had manners. The last time he’d been there she’d plied him with baklava as thanks for stopping a local arsonist.

If he was going to be forced to play the hero, he’d reap the benefits as well.

#### One month ago

“This is foolish. The armour is of little practical value. Why must your mantle be virtually painted on, Nightbird?”

“It’s Nightwing! And it’s durable as hell. You just haven’t given it a chance.” John gestured for Barsad to turn.

“It’s certainly... flexible.” The costume outlined every muscle, every curve. It was obscene. Barsad twisted, feeling the fabric cling, and, while he did not generally indulge in regrets, he was disappointed in himself for not finding a way to dissuade Bane from this course of action. “I need a holster for my gun.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No guns.” Blake frowned and Bane nodded behind him.

No guns. What the fuck?

The storm gathering on his face must have been obvious because Bane waived John away so they could speak alone. Blake hobbled off on his crutches to the computer terminal.

“Brother-”

“What do you expect me to fight with?” he hissed. He had capitulated to Bane’s request, but this? No guns, no knives...

“The escrima sticks-”

“Sticks? Have you gone mad?”

“No one must realize that change. You need to act as John does. Nightwing is known for the escrima sticks. And, of course, his charm.”

“Charm,” Barsad replied flatly. “Has he fucked you into a stupor, brother?”

“Barsad-”

“No, no,” he waved at himself, resigned to the humiliation. “It’s StripperWing now.”

“I heard that! And it’s Nightwing!”

Barsad shook his head, but what could he do? He’d been glad to see Bane alive and he had Blake to thank for it. Blake who somehow brought Bane some measure of happiness. John had thrown his old life away and left his badge behind to follow in Wayne’s footsteps, though not so rigidly that he’d refused to help his one-time enemy. Bane could have suffered far worse while Barsad had been unable to help him. As such, he owed John no small measure of gratitude. This charade seemed a paltry price to pay, if undignified. Barsad could manage the streets of Gotham for a few weeks.

The first woman he helped screamed and ran.

“What the hell are you doing?” John yelled on the comms.

“Protecting the citizens of Gotham,” Barsad parroted back.

“You terrified her. Do you not know how to smile?”

“Smile?” Barsad failed to see the relevance.

“Parting your lips and showing your teeth, dumbass. You know, smile? Be less threatening?”

“ _Less_ threatening?”

“Yeah.”

Barsad thudded his head against the bricks.

#### Three weeks ago

“You need to move around more.”

No shit, Barsad winced as Bane continued to stitch up the gash his side and John lectured him.

“You said the suit was reinforced.”

“It is!” The Nightwing suit, one of several, had been slashed across the side to fall away, baring a large swath of skin. “That was a lucky hit. But they shouldn’t be touching you at all, that’s what I mean.”

“You want me to bounce around like a clown.”

“Jesus Christ, a backflip is not going to kill you. Unless,” John smirked, “you can’t do one?”

“Of course I can.”

“Sure,” Blake eyed him with open skepticism, “and use the batarangs I gave you.”

“They are misshapen and useless.”

“Just because you refuse to practice-”

“I can throw a damned knife!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Bane sighed and shook his head as though they were recalcitrant children. Infuriating bastard.

Later that night, struck in the ass by his own ricocheting batarang, Barsad managed a passable backflip only to land in a nearby dumpster. It was not his finest moment.

#### Two weeks ago

“Nightwing.” The red helmeted man greeted him on a rooftop.

“What are you doing here?” Did they think he needed a babysitter?

“Providing assistance,” Bane pulled back his jacket to reveal the pistols holstered at his sides.

Barsad pouted.

“They are rubber bullets, brother. You despise them.” That was true, but now Barsad would have gladly used rubber bullets into eternity if it meant that he didn’t have to wear the Nightwing suit. This third version rode up in places he refused to think about.

“I have no need of your assistance.”

The Bane who faced him stood strong, though leaner still than he had been before they’d first come to Gotham. He’d shed his reliance on the mask, however, which was well worth the exchange.

“Come now. We have a trafficking ring to take down this evening. They will be poorly organized and inept, I have no doubt, but there is no harm in being cautious.”

Cautious? No, Barsad could interpret Bane better than anyone. He wasn’t concerned, he was bored. Had Bane had done more than spar since leaving his addiction to venom behind? Perhaps they could have a little fun then.

“Give me the misshapen knives.” Barsad waited to see where the man would produce them from now that he no longer had Barsad at his side carrying a small armoury. Bane retrieved the batarangs from one of the pockets in his cargo pants and held them up to the meagre light of the moon.

“Have you been practicing?”

“Yes,” Barsad ground out. “Give me the thrice-damned things.”

“Very well.”

And it was fun, the two of them fighting side by side. Barsad could feel Bane’s grin beneath his helmet. It lasted until the last of the thugs went down and Barsad had to help wrench a stray batarang out of the back of Bane’s helmet.

Bane offered him a long-suffering look before agreeing they need not tell John.

#### One week ago

Up until now, Barsad had had the good fortune not to run into any of the odd “rogues” that had been appearing in Gotham since John had filled the gap left by Batman.

The villain how confronted him now was… intriguing.

“Look, it’s obvious you ain’t him. Your form is all wrong.” The woman pointed at him knowingly, a massive mallet slung over her shoulder.

“Is it now?”

“Barsad! That’s Harley Quinn,” John snapped in his ear, loud enough to make the comm crackle. “She’s more dangerous than she looks but she’s also not that vicious. She’s probably just casing a heist since the Joker is still in Arkham.”

“Uh huh. You’re way too uptight. He’s going to pissed that you’re impersonatin’ him.”

“He is aware.”

“Yeah? Is he okay?” That the woman actually looked concerned was a surprise.

“Go ahead,” John sighed.

“Yes. He’s fine.”

“Oh good. Prettyboy’s all right far as do-gooders go. I mean, some of the cops and other wannabes are completely fucked in the head and handsy as hell.”

Barsad grimaced at Harley’s nonchalant description of assault. No man with any sense of honour or self-worth would lower himself to such behaviour. It was abhorrent. He was not surprised that she drew attention, however. Despite being dressed rather ridiculously, Harley was very attractive.

“Oh, I see you lookin’,” she grinned and moved closer, letting her weapon fall to the side. “You fill out that costume pretty nice yourself.”

“Barsad-” he heard John growl. “Do not fuck Harley.”

And until John had said it, Barsad had not considered it as an option. Was this a genuine offer? The suit might have some uses after all.

“Barsad?”

Harley reached out and ran a teasing hand down his chest.

“Don’t you dare-” Barsad turned off his comm.

#### Now

Barsad watched John run through a series of stretches, his ankle finally healed.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, are you talking to me now?” Blake had been sour with Barsad for the past few days, leaving Bane to run comms while Barsad dealt with Killer Croc.

“I’m going to have to burn that suit.” Such drama. Harley had been lovely and the suit was fine.

Bane had cautioned him when he’d arrived back at the cave, explaining Harley’s previous exploits and her history with the Joker. He’d followed up with his own research on the maniac. Despite John’s no-kill rule, Barsad fully intended to put a bullet through the man’s skull in the near future. Bane could manage his lover’s ire.

“You exaggerate. I didn’t wear it while we were-”

“Stop! Just stop.” Barsad grinned, unrepentant in the face of John’s glare. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”

“That’s hardly fair when I am forced to bear witness to yours on a-”

“Oh my God!” John threw his hand towel at Barsad and stalked off towards the changing area.

“Must you taunt him?” Emerging from the shadows of the cave, Bane frowned at him. It was an expression Barsad was still unused to.

“ChickenWing, can manage I’m sure.”

“I heard that!”

“And yet, you have not returned the suit.” A small smile curled at Bane’s scarred lips. Better, though still slightly unsettling.

“Blake has others.” What did it matter if he used it on occasion? Homemade baklava was hard to come by.

“I only thought you might prefer your own. Something with less bouncing and better-formed knives, perhaps?” Bane produced a box and offered it to him.

Inside Barsad found a suit. Unlike the Nightwing suit, the material was thicker, armoured in places that would reduce some degree of movement but provide far greater protection from direct hits. It somewhat resembled the Bat suit, though no symbol was emblazoned upon the chest. Nor was it black. Instead, the material was in varying shades of brown.

“There is more.” At Bane’s nod, Barsad lifted out the last of the material. A cape with a matching cowl.

“Really, brother?” The cape itself was strong, if overly dramatic, and Barsad could feel the layers of something running through the fabric. Recalling the way the Batman could glide from rooftops, Barsad decided that he would tolerate the cape if it could offer the same functionality. The “ears” on the rigid cowl, however, he could do without.

Bane made no comment, choosing instead to provide another box, this one with armaments. Thick gloves with embedded blades, a grapple, a utility belt filled with varying gadgets that Barsad himself had helped design and make for John. There were still no holsters for any sort of gun, but sheaths for his knives (proper ones) were plentiful.

“It can be adjusted if need be.” Bane would have known his measurements and even if some minor changes were required, Barsad doubted that this suit would ever cling as uncomfortably close as Blake’s did.

He held up the cowl, “Sanding these off would be a start.”

“In an environment such as this,” Bane spoke wryly, referring to Gotham’s unique criminal element, “theatricality appears to provide some advantage.”

As much as Barsad would have preferred to argue, Bane wasn’t wrong.

“You’ll need a name.”

“Must I?”

A couple weeks later, after testing and adjustments, Barsad perched on a windowsill and rued his indecision on the matter of a name when Mrs. Novak kissed him on the cheek and greeted him as Nightwing’s friend “Catman”.

At least he could console himself with baklava while he plotted his revenge against Blake.


End file.
